“If you know about the debts,” Brooks said, “then you must know Rutley is the man he owes.”
Lady Bolton stopped suddenly. “What?”
“Surely he told you that,” Brooks said, shocked. Lady Bolton shook her head a little, and Brooks sighed. “Rosamund’s dowry is part of how Charles intends to pay him back.”
Lady Bolton’s eyes widened. “Did Charles say that?”
Brooks nodded. “So you see now why he’s eager for Rosamund to marry him. I’m not sure how she will get out of it.”
Lady Bolton frowned. “If only my husband hadn’t given twelve thousand pounds to that… that bastard of his! Did you know he expects me to be her chaperone for a season in London?”
“Her name is August,” Brooks said as patiently as he could. He understood Lady Bolton’s hurt over the situation, but she must have known August needed the same kindness she showed him when he was younger. She was only an innocent girl, after all.
“Whatever her name is, I will not do it,” she replied stubbornly.
“Lady Bolton—”
“I will hear no more of it, Brooks!” she exclaimed. Brooks nodded once, knowing when to stop pushing someone. Her temper seemed to subside, and she spoke again. “I have been thinking of sending her to my sister-in-law in London. You know Lady Ramsbury, don’t you? She is a widow and a dowager duchess with no other real responsibilities at the moment. I can think of no one more suitable than her.”
Brooks frowned. He knew the Dowager Duchess of Ramsbury. He was sure everyone in Mayfair did, especially the men—regardless of their age. There wasn’t a word for a female rakehell, but Lady Ramsbury would be described as such if there was one. She had been a widow some ten-odd years, developing quite the reputation for herself in the process. Everyone seemed to turn a blind eye to her bad behavior, though, thanks to her title, wealth, and the fabulous parties she frequently hosted.
“I can think of no one worse for her,” Brooks argued. “You know her reputation. August is young and unrefined. She needs someone to teach her the ways of this new world, and I can think of no one better than you and Rosamund. Could you not—”
“Please desist, Mr. Brooks,” Lady Bolton snapped, stopping in the middle of the pathway. Brooks stood at attention. “I will not do it, and no one can make me—not even my husband—especially when he’s finally dead.”
Brooks watched her walk on ahead, sighing. He was disappointed for a moment, then wondered why he even cared. He had told himself that he would deliver August to Linfield, and that would be that.
Then why, he asked himself, did he worry so much for her future? Unable to arrive at an answer, he reluctantly continued his walk through the garden, listening to Lady Bolton as she commented on much more pleasant topics such as the scenery and weather.
* * *
August stood alone in the drawing room before dinner, wearing one of her sister’s dinner dresses. The maids did their best to make it fit August’s more petite frame, but the gown still felt slightly too big. Her sister’s silk evening gloves fit wonderfully, though, and they were undoubtedly the best pair of gloves August had ever worn. She couldn’t stop running her hands over them, all the way from her wrists to the crook of her elbow.
Charles invited the duke to dinner, which August could tell displeased Rosamund a great deal, though her older sister tried not to show it. Meanwhile, Lady Bolton seemed to have changed her tune about the man. She hovered close to Rutley in the drawing room, laughing at something he said, while Rosamund sat alone in front of the fire.
August could tell right away that Brooks did not like the duke. When he said something that made the countess laugh, he turned and rolled his eyes, probably thinking that no one was watching. August smiled to herself, finding his constant surliness somewhat endearing. Their eyes met from across the room, and Brooks approached her. They stood by the pianoforte in silence, surveying the scene in front of them.
“You did not tell me my sister had a fiancé,” August finally said, looking from the handsome duke in the corner to Brooks beside her. The solicitor looked at her sheepishly.
“I suppose I forgot,” he said, laughing slightly.
“You forgot?” August asked incredulously, raising her brow.
Brooks nodded. “They have been engaged for so long that sometimes I forget that they’re not yet married. The wedding has been put off every year for one reason or another. Ironically enough, it’s usually Rutley who is trying to cry off. I wonder what happened to make Rosamund do it this time.”
August blinked as Brooks seemed to consider the answer. Eventually, he shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. The family will delay it another year, using your father’s death as an excuse. And then we’ll do it all again next year, except with a different excuse.”
August stared at him, then turned to the people in front of them. All the riches in the world, and they were still miserable. August did not understand. “Why is it so important to Charles that they marry?” she asked. “What power does the duke hold over him?”
She watched Brooks smile at her. “You’re very clever, Lady August.”
August cringed. “Oh, please do not call me Lady August. It feels so strange. The only ladies here are the countess and my sister.”
“What shall I call you then?” he asked, raising his brow. “I cannot call you Miss Summer anymore.”
“Just August, then,” she said. He seemed to freeze, carefully watching her. “And what shall I call you, Mr. Brooks?”
“Just Brooks is fine,” he replied, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, and she tried not to smile. He seemed nervous, but she couldn’t understand why. “I spoke to Lady Bolton today, by the way. I think you might have been right about her.”
August bit back a smile. “What did you say?” she asked after no longer being able to stop a grin from spreading across her face. “Did you say you think I could have been right?”
“It’s not ladylike to brag, you know,” Brooks grumbled. “And making an enemy of Lady Bolton is no cause for smiling.” He must have noticed August’s anxious look because his face softened. “But do not worry. As the executor of your father’s will, I will make sure you receive your twelve thousand pounds. And if your father’s dying wish is that you be out in society, I will see to that too.”
August stared at him. Why was he going through such pains to see her settled? Brooks could have left Linfield that day to return to London but didn’t. So why did he linger?
“That’s very kind of you, Brooks,” she said, finally looking away from him. August was sure she must have been blushing.
“I am only doing my job,” he said.
August looked back up at him, nodding. “Of course,” she said, forcing a smile. “But it’s kind, nonetheless. And I thank you for it.”
Before he could say anything, August looked toward her sister, who remained seated alone in front of the fire. “I think I’ll check in on my sister before dinner if you don’t mind. She looks miserable. Excuse me.”
She quickly walked away, reminding herself that developing any sort of attachment to Brooks was foolish. He did not want her that way, and August could think of plenty of reasons why, including one he didn’t even know yet.
Chapter Nine
Dinner was much less tempestuous than the family’s last meeting in the drawing room. All were on their best behavior with the duke visiting, though Rosamund remained in a sullen state for most of the night. She barely spoke to anyone except August. Although he was wrong about Lady Bolton, Brooks was glad Rosamund had taken August under her wing.
Rutley was his usual charming self, appealing to everyone but Brooks and Rosamund. He had become even more irritating in adulthood, though in different ways compared to childhood. The duke always knew the right thing to say to charm the ladies, Lady Bolton included, and he was a handsome bastard—even Brooks could see that. The countess seemed to have all but forgotten Rosamund’s wishes now that Rutley could make
or mar the estate with the twenty thousand pounds that Charles owed him.
Even August seemed to like the duke, but that could have been because he acted interested in what she had to say—unlike Charles, who pretended that August didn’t exist. If Brooks had to guess, Rutley was only acting kind to impress Rosamund with his generosity toward her half sister, who seemed to like the girl more than anyone other than Brooks. Still, his feelings didn’t matter in this situation, and they would surely fade into indifference.
When dinner had finished, Rutley had gone home, and the ladies had retired for the evening, only Charles and Brooks remained in the drawing room. Charles was very drunk, and Brooks observed him sadly.
“What happened to you, Charles?” he asked. Charles furrowed his brow as if he didn’t understand the question.
“What happened to you, Brooks?” Charles slurred every word he spoke, causing Brooks to roll his eyes. His old friend took a swig of brandy, then wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand. “You used to be fun.”
“You and I both know I was never nearly as fun as you and Rutley, even before my father died and I wasn’t running the entire practice.”
“Perhaps you could hire me to help you.” Charles grinned mischievously. “You and I both know I need the money to pay for my father’s bastard.”
Brooks grimaced. “I wish you would not call her that.”
“Does Brooks have a soft spot for my new little sister?” Charles teased.
Brooks felt his face go hot. Was he that obvious? He cleared his throat, eager to change the subject. “Speaking of little sisters, when will you tell Rosamund why you are insisting she marry Rutley? She will not bend to your will without a good reason.”
Charles’s expression soured, and he took another sip of brandy. “She will bend to my will with or without reason. I will be earl soon, and she will do as I say.”
Brooks’s face fell. “You truly are an awful older brother.”
“How would you know? You no longer have a sister.”
The vicious jab was like a knife to the side. If Brooks was a violent man, he might have punched Charles, but he resisted. A swift blow to the jaw wouldn’t change Charles, so Brooks rose from his chair instead.
“You must tell her. If you do not, I will.” Charles stared up at him, silent but angry. Brooks bowed slightly. “Good night, my lord.”
* * *
By the time Linfield’s inhabitants rose the following day, Lord Bolton was dead. Rosamund was the only one who cried upon hearing the news. They gathered in the drawing room, waiting for the undertaker. The servants put out trays of tea, fresh fruit, and cakes in an attempt to calm the family’s nerves.
Instead, Charles reached for the brandy while Lady Bolton paced the room, her concerned eyes intermittently falling on each of her children. August sat beside her sister and attempted to comfort her.
Meanwhile, Brooks sat at the desk, drawing up the necessary papers when a rich man died. Upon reviewing the ledgers, Brooks knew Linfield Hall would be in trouble if Charles didn’t come up with twenty thousand pounds and pay off Rutley soon. He would have to sell something to protect Linfield, perhaps the dowager cottage or the family’s house in town.
Brooks was considering what Charles could do when Rutley suddenly appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. Their eyes met, and Rutley smiled slightly at him. Then Charles noticed the duke from across the room.
“Your Grace!” he exclaimed, walking toward Rutley. “I appreciate you coming. My sister is inconsolable, and I thought your presence might comfort her.”
Rosamund swiftly rose from where she sat, leaving a flabbergasted August behind. Her sister walked toward the two men. The features on Rosamund’s face were pinched together in irritation, and Brooks and August exchanged similar looks of concern before turning back toward the scene.
“What are you doing here?” Rosamund asked in a low voice.
Her brother bristled at that. “Is that any way—”
Rutley silenced Charles with a look. He skulked back across the room toward his mother, leaving the couple alone.
“What are you doing here?” Rosamund repeated after her brother let them be. They spoke so softly now that Brooks was the only one who could hear them from the nearby desk.
Rutley raised his brow. “Your brother sent a servant over with the news. I thought you might need comforting.”
Rosamund remained stone-faced despite Rutley’s desperate look. Brooks found it entertaining to watch Rutley be the pleading party for once instead of Rosamund.
“I have my sister,” Rosamund said, glancing back toward August. “I do not require any more comforting.” An awkward pause lingered between them while Rutley struggled to find something to say. Rosamund cleared her throat. “Truthfully, I have been thinking, and—”
“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private to talk.”
Rutley turned and looked at Brooks. His sharp gaze caused Brooks to turn away, back toward his papers. He waited to hear them leave, and when he was sure no one was watching, he quietly stood up from his desk, following them. Eavesdropping was generally frowned upon in polite society, but Brooks never did trust Rutley with Rosamund.
They had gone into the library, closing the door behind them. Brooks stood quietly in the hall, trying to listen. Luckily they spoke loudly and angrily enough that he heard them quite easily.
“I have been thinking very carefully about our last conversation,” Rosamund said, her voice confident, “and I have decided I do not believe you.”
“What?” Rutley said incredulously. There was a prolonged pause. “You do not believe what, exactly?”
“I do not believe you truly love me.” A masculine groan pierced the room. “Even though you have finally said it, and I told you that was all I wanted.”
“All right,” Rutley said. Brooks imagined him crossing his arms as if he was about to bargain with another member of the House of Lords. “What can I do to make you believe me? What else can I possibly do to make up for the sins of my past? I cannot completely erase them, you know, as much as you might want me to do so.”
Another pause. “I think that’s the problem, Robert. I know you cannot erase them, and no number of promises or sweet words can make me trust you again. I thought you had changed when you proposed a few years ago, but when I found out… when I found out… the true reasons behind you constantly delaying the engagement and then the wedding…”
Her voice broke, and Brooks stiffened. She was crying. He didn’t have to think too long as to why. Rutley had been unfaithful to her, and Rosamund had somehow found out. Perhaps that was why Lady Bolton had initially sided with Rosamund when she told Charles that she wanted to break off the engagement, especially when her husband’s illegitimate daughter was sitting on her settee at the time.
“I have tried everything I can to earn your forgiveness,” Rutley said, his words cold and angry. “What more can I do? You are acting ridiculous, Rosamund.”
Brooks winced. Despite his limited experience with women, even he knew that was the wrong thing to say. But Rosamund hardly reacted. Perhaps she was used to it.
“I think it’s best we call off the engagement,” she said, sniffling. “We will only make each other miserable. After watching what’s happened with my sister, I am now sure of it. I could not bear it if you had an affair while we were married, and I do not trust you enough to believe you wouldn’t. So how could I marry you?”
The two fell silent. Brooks waited for Rutley’s response when suddenly a hand touched his shoulder. He jumped, quickly turning to find August standing there, smiling up at him. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice at full volume.
Brooks quickly wrapped his arm around her, leading her away from the door, afraid that Rutley or Rosamund might hear them. When they reached a safe distance, he stopped to scold her. “What did it look like I was doing?” he asked. “I was eavesdropping.”
He turned, looking over his shoulder in
the direction of the library. No one was following them, so he breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to August. “You should never sneak up on an eavesdropper.”
She narrowed her gaze as she looked up at him, placing her hands on her hips. “Or perhaps you should never eavesdrop,” she retorted. “Why did you follow them in the first place? I saw you leave the drawing room earlier when you thought no one noticed. You are lucky I did not tell on you when Lady Bolton and Charles asked where you were.”
“What do they want? Is that why you came searching for me?”
She nodded. “I’m not entirely sure, but I watched them conspire in the corner of the drawing room after everyone left. It was very unkind to leave me alone with them.”
“I’m sorry,” Brooks muttered, then shook his head, touching his thumb and forefinger to his temple. After a moment, he dropped his hand, looking at August. “You said you saw them conspiring. What do you mean?”
August shrugged. “They were whispering furtively while occasionally looking at me, thinking I wasn’t noticing. I’m sure they were discussing how to rid themselves of me now that my father is gone. I think you should reconsider your position on me renting a set of rooms in Wilton.”
But Brooks only thought of the Dowager Duchess of Ramsbury. He had yet to mention her aunt’s existence to August, but he should have known the countess and Charles would send her to Lady Ramsbury as soon as possible. But how could Brooks convince them to let August stay? Lady Ramsbury was an entirely unsuitable chaperone.
“And why did they ask you to go fetch me?” he asked.
“Come with me to the study, and we will both find out.”
Lady August Page 9
